Page 81 of Sunday

“I know, and he loves mimosas for Sunday brunches.”

“Mommy, I wuv Sunday brunches.”

I dabbed a little pancake mix onto Aspen’s nose before I kissed it away. “Me, too, baby. Daddy always makes Sunday brunches special.”

“Always?”

“Always. When I first met your daddy, I used to get up to eat breakfast early every Sunday. The first Sunday we lived together, he found me up early and told me that I was doing it wrong. He said that Sundays were very special and deserved to be treated with ease. We used those Sundays to get to know one another better and build a strong bond and friendship. Your daddy believed if you weren’t going to church, then Sundays were made for sleeping in late, having brunch, and taking it slow and easy because they were the most beautiful day of the week.”

“Like your name?”

“Like my name.”

“You’re a beautiful gwurl, Mommy.”

“Aww, thank you, Aspen. You’re a handsome little king,” I pronounced and kissed his cinnamon-brown cheek. He smelled like baby powder and sunshine.

“I’m gonna be a big king just like daddy when I’m big. I’ma have a little king like me, and we’re gonna have a beautiful gwurl who’s a mommy just like you.”

My eyes teared up at my sweet boy’s words. It made me feel so special that he adored our little family and wanted what we had. I leaned in and fluttered my eyelashes against his cheeks. Aspen giggled.

“I wuv butterfwy kisses, Mommy.”

I kissed his cheek. “I know, baby, and Mommy loves giving them to you.”

We finished the pancakes as we made small talk, and I plated the food. I had told Cedar to sleep in this morning, because hehad been up late the night before. He had spent the evening in our backyard putting up the tent with Aspen and then camping out. Aspen had talked his father’s ears off until almost three in the morning when he fell asleep.

They had finally come in around five in the morning when Aspen decided he wanted to sleep in his bed. I promised Cedar that I would get the brunch ready, and he didn’t have to worry about a thing.

“Are you ready to surprise Daddy?”

“Yep!” Aspen hopped happily off the stool he had been sitting on as we cooked brunch. I made some tarragon chicken salad on croissants, blueberry pancakes, spinach omelets, and brown sugar and rosemary glazed bacon.

I placed a couple of platters on a large tray before I returned downstairs to get the others. It took a third trip for me to carry the forks, orange juice, and mimosas upstairs while Aspen carried three plates.

“Do you think Daddy’s still asleep, or is he pretending to be asleep?” I asked Aspen when we walked into the room the final time, and I saw my husband still sprawled across the bed.

“He’s ashweep, Mommy.” Aspen covered his mouth, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the giggles that bubbled up.

“Well, we’ve got to wake him up.”

“Daddy’s tired, Mommy.”

“I know, but I think Daddy worked up a big appetite last night building the tent with you. If he doesn’t wake up, his food will get cold, he’ll miss out on brunch, and then he’ll be a grumpy daddy.”

Aspen’s eyes widened as he stared up at me.

“Someone has to be brave enough to take on the big job of waking Daddy up.”

His round eyes squinted as his dropped jaw turned up into a smile.

“I’m bwave, Mommy. I can do it,” Aspen declared.

“Okay, let me see those muscles.”

He looked at me, and his beautiful cinnamon face, so much like his father’s, crinkled up into a gorgeous smile. Aspen held his puny little arms up to show me his muscles. I gave a firm nod and declared, “Yep. Those guns are big enough to get the job done.”

He rushed to the bed, climbed on top, and jumped up and down. “Daddy! Daddy! You gotta wake up and eat so you not gwumpy. Daddy!”

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